Big Hair and Plastic Grasstag:typepad.com,2003:weblog-812503353388951152015-02-21T16:14:37-08:00A celebration of 1970s baseball in all of its freaky glory.TypePadMickey, Whitey and Popeyetag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b8d0dafa39970c2015-02-21T16:14:37-08:002015-02-21T16:56:56-08:00I watched The French Connection 2 last night for the first time since I was a kid. (Yeah, I know — but believe me, it was just one of many inappropriate films that my folks took me to see while I was in grade school.) Much as I generally love...Dan Epstein

I watched The French Connection 2 last night for the first time since I was a kid. (Yeah, I know — but believe me, it was just one of many inappropriate films that my folks took me to see while I was in grade school.)

Much as I generally love 70s cop flicks — and specifically love The French Connection — this 1975 sequel turned out to be a real downer in a number of ways. Gene Hackman is great, as always (as with George C. Scott, I have trouble thinking of a film that he was less than excellent in), and mid-70s Marseille looks appealingly grimy, but most of the flick is a turgid mess. The plot is difficult to follow (and to swallow), and the "fish out of water" scenes where Hackman's Popeye Doyle character tries to interact and communicate with French people are almost as agonizingly long as the scenes in which he's (spoiler alert!) trying to withdraw from heroin.

That said, it does contain some snappy hard-boiled dialogue, including a scene where a wasted Doyle tells his uncomprehending French host, Inspector Barthelmy (Bernard Fresson), about his failed baseball career. I couldn't find a clip of the scene on YouTube, but someone has helpfully posted the transcript at IMDB, which I am re-posting here. When it comes to great baseball bits from non-baseball-related films, this scene seems to have largely fallen between the cracks. But as far as I'm concerned, the oft-lauded "1975 World Series" conversation in Good Will Hunting doesn't have a patch on this:

Jimmy 'Popeye' Doyle: [drunk] You know, I had a tryout with the Yankees. You know what the Yankees are?

Inspector Henri Barthelemy: Yes. As in "Yankee go home."

Jimmy 'Popeye' Doyle: Yeah. NO! No, uh... Uh... no, the Yankee baseball... baseball team. Yeah, I had a tryout with them and... they sent me down to the... the minors. And the poblem... poblem... problem was that... there was a fuckin' kid there, and he was... the fastest bastard, he was fuckin' FAST. And he... he played shortstop at the time, and he... he could hit the ball a fuckin' ton. A fuckin' TON! You know what "fuck" means?

Inspector Henri Barthelemy: Yeah.

Jimmy 'Popeye' Doyle: Yeah. Well, I was in spring training... and I saw this kid... and I just immediately took the test for cops. That kid was Mickey Mantle. You know who Mickey Mantle was? You fuckhead?

Jimmy 'Popeye' Doyle: That's what I said! Yes. Fuck, yeah. Good athlete. Well, and... Whitey Ford. Goddamn. You know who Whitey Ford was? Oh... shit. He was a dandy little southpaw. That's what we called him. He was a dandy little southpaw.

Inspector Henri Barthelemy: Southpaw?

Jimmy 'Popeye' Doyle: Yeah. He was a lefty.

Inspector Henri Barthelemy: You mean a communist?

Jimmy 'Popeye' Doyle: No, he was a Republican. But he was somethin', I tell you. He was somethin'...

Take It Easy, Georgetag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01bb07e8a9df970d2015-02-04T22:39:08-08:002015-02-05T13:19:47-08:00We lost one of the greats this January, and I'm not talking about the late, great Mr. Cub. No, I'm talking about George Downs, the guy in the above pic. You wouldn't know George from a baseball context, unless you had the pleasure to attend a game or play pick-up...Dan Epstein

No, I'm talking about George Downs, the guy in the above pic. You wouldn't know George from a baseball context, unless you had the pleasure to attend a game or play pick-up softball with him. He was a renowned political scientist, one whose work led to positions at such esteemed schools as the University of Michigan, UC Davis, Princeton and NYU. For over forty years, he was one of my father's best friends, and an unofficial god-uncle to me and my sister. And, as the above photo attests, he had a latent silly streak about a mile wide. It was taken by Fran, my stepmother, a few weeks before he passed; not wanting to sit for something as heavy as a "final photo," but still wanting to indulge Fran (whose own wonderful silliness he immensely enjoyed), George grabbed a nearby Kleenex box and placed it nobly upon his head. The resulting photo perfectly captures the lovely gent I knew.

I first met George around 1972; I was in first grade, and he was a PhD student at the U of M, where my dad taught at the School of Social Work. Irwin, my father, had recently split from my mother and was living at the time with his friend Ted in a large two-bedroom apartment above the Cottage Inn on E. William St. in Ann Arbor. (The above photo, taken in 1976, is from the incredible Ann Arbor District Library photo archives; it also reveals a snippet of the sign for the neighboring Campus Bike and Toy, a shop whose extensive selection of Revell model kits haunted my childhood dreams.)

While it would be understandable for a child to associate their dad's new bachelor pad with the sadness and confusion of his parents' divorce, I have only happy memories of that place above the Cottage Inn. It was there that I watched my first episode of Night Gallery; it was there that I learned to love spaghetti and clam sauce; it was there that I built a model of the USS Constitution with my dad; and it was there that my six-year-old mind was truly blown by the insane Ramayana comic books Ted had brought back from his Peace Corps stint in India. (After I'd read about the battle between the monkey and demon armies of Rama and Ravana, no Marvel superhero comic could ever hope to measure up.)

It was also the place where I heard the Eagles' eponymous first LP for the first time, and many, many times after. Whatever you may think of the Eagles now (hell, whatever I may think of them), there's no denying that their first record perfectly captured the "Hey, maaan, we just wanna be mellow and live life one day at a time" ethos of the post-Kent State early 70s. "Take It Easy," the album's opening track, became a theme song of sorts for my dad, Ted, and their pal George during their groovy bachelor days. I had no idea what "Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy" — which seemed to be their favorite line — actually meant, but it made me laugh every time they sang along with it.

When you're a kid, you tend to latch on to the exaggerated physical characteristics of adults. Ted sported (and still sports, I'm happy to say) the sort of handlebar moustache that would turn Rollie Fingers's face Kelly green with envy, and that was of course the first thing I noticed about him. With George, the first thing I noticed was his height, which was well over six feet tall. But while I could get really freaked out in the presence of really tall people (like the time my grandfather made me shake hands with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar), George was so friendly, and so mellow and gentle in his mannerisms, that he didn't spook me at all. Just the opposite, really; he had such a quietly engaging presence that it was impossible not to enjoy being around him. For the next few years, Ted and George were permanent fixtures in my life, "cool uncles" who I saw at the apartment on E. William, or (once my dad moved out of that apartment and into a house with me and my sister) at weekend poker or softball games. From the point of view of an uncoordinated seven-year-old, they and their friends all looked like All Stars on the softball diamond, but George stood out with his towering flies to center, his loping runs around the bases, his powerful throws from third base — and, of course, his theatrical shoulder-clutches and cries of agony that inevitably followed every successful throw.

George and Ted were guys I could talk to about baseball, music or history, or just exchange good-natured shit with; they spoke to me like I was an equal, which I always appreciated greatly. But I also got a buzz just from hearing the witty repartee that would fly between them and my dad. Honestly I learned so much from just listening to these three brilliant men talk. In fact, one of my favorite childhood memories is of hearing the enthusiastic rumble of their voices from down the hall while I was falling asleep. Even if I couldn't always make out what they were saying, I could hear humor, intelligence and warmth in their voices, and it always made me feel comforted and safe. Many years later, when I was sharing a house with my Lava Sutra bandmates, I would often call it a night before the rest of them, just so that I could drift off to the similarly soothing sounds of their conversations...

George and Ted both moved west by the end of the 70s; my dad moved east, and my sister and I ended up in the midwest. My interactions with George and Ted became understandably fewer and farther between, but they maintained a strong connection with my dad, and it was always a treat on the rare occasions when we'd wind up in the same place. I saw George a couple of times in the late 80s and early 90s when he was at Princeton, but we didn't really reconnect until 2003, when he was at NYU and I saw him at my dad's 65th birthday party. I'd heard that he'd been through a rough battle with cancer, but he was still very much the same George I knew and loved, with a gleam in his eye that seemed to say, "We were both blessed with good brains — let's see how much fun we can have with them!" I spent almost the entire party catching up and shooting the shit with him; from then on, just about every time I came to New York, I tried to make time to have dinner with him and my father. George was a man who relished good food and good bottles as much as good conversation, and our dinners together typically involved plenty of all three.

I took the above pic in the fall of 2008, at a Greek restaurant in the West Village. (That's my dad on the left.) As our dinners together went, this was one of my all-time favorites; actually, I have no memory at all of the food, but I do remember the three of us getting extremely lit and progressively more silly as the night went on. Early in the meal, we noticed a leather-clad Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson taking a table outside, and "The Godfather of Punk" soon became an unwitting and utterly oblivious target of our wine-fueled mirth. At one point during dinner, my father asked me "Where's the loo?" — and, mishearing his question as "Where's Lou?", I gestured to the table out front where Lou was sitting. My father then took a brief step towards the door with a hand on his belt buckle, indicating in subtly comic fashion that he was heading outside to piss in Lou's lap. He didn't, of course, but the very notion of it was enough to have the three of us in tears. The tears of laughter returned about a half hour later, when we began debating whether or not we should send Lou and Laurie dessert; it was George's opinion that we should send them a creme brulée, since there couldn't be anything more outré than sending Lou Reed a creme brulée. And really, how could I argue with such unassailably rhyming logic? Alas, in our inebriated state we failed to notice that they'd already left...

Lou's gone now, of course, and so is George — liver disease got Lou, and cancer got George — and I don't think the West Village will ever be the same for me without either of them. It broke my heart when I learned a few months ago that George's time was drawing near, but I'm thankful that I was able to tell him how much I loved him, and what an important figure he'd been in my life. My heart also breaks for his wife, Ilene, and for Ted and my dad. I can't imagine how awful it must be to lose your partner in life; but I also think about my closest friends, especially the ones I've known for 35 years or more, and I can't imagine the pain of losing them.

But that's not the note I want to finish this on. Rather, let's go out with my favorite story involving George, Ted and my dad, one that I wasn't there for but have heard many times. Sometime back in the 80s, around the time the above pic was taken, the three of them got together for a "dudes weekend" in the Bay Area. At some point, as one does, they decided that a three-man softball game was in order; they went to three sporting goods stores in search of a wooden softball bat, only to be rebuffed at every turn. "We've been to three stores," they complained to the salesperson at the third store, "and not one of them has a wooden softball bat!" The clerk just stared at them quizzically. "How long since you guys played softball?" he asked.

Making due with an aluminum bat, George, Ted and Irwin made a beeline for the park, and spent the afternoon throwing, swinging, running, and generally engaging in the sort of tumultuous merriment that would render them all nearly paralyzed when they woke up the following day. Utterly exhausted by the end of the game, they piled into Ted's convertible, and drove across the East Bay in search of dinner. The sun was setting as the car cruised across the Bay Bridge, and they turned on the radio. Call it poetry, magic, sheer coincidence or all of the above, but there it was — "Take It Easy" by the Eagles.

Rest in peace, George. I hope you found a wonderful banquet with stimulating conversation and an excellent wine list waiting for you in the next life. Say hey to Lou Reed for me, ask him if he'd like a creme brulée, and remind him not to let the sound of his own wheels drive him crazy.

Grandpa Fredtag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01bb07dea4ea970d2015-01-20T09:26:37-08:002015-01-20T09:26:37-08:00Pardo Frederick DelliQuadri, my late, beloved maternal grandfather, would have turned 100 today. Grandpa Fred was first hero, my staunchest advocate, and truly one of the most influential people in my life. Along with unruly eyebrows and a penchant for napping in front of the television, we shared a love...Dan Epstein

Grandpa Fred was first hero, my staunchest advocate, and truly one of the most influential people in my life. Along with unruly eyebrows and a penchant for napping in front of the television, we shared a love of cartoons, sports, history, war films, Italian food and making slightly risqué lyrical substitutions to popular songs.

Grandpa Fred may have looked like a Mafioso, but he was actually an academic who served as the dean of four major schools of social work, including Columbia University. The welfare of the world’s children was of great importance to him, which I suspect had something to do with having grown up extremely poor in a very large family. (His parents met and married in Pueblo, Colorado after emigrating from Italy around the turn of the last century.) He spent eight years as the U.S. representative to the executive board of UNICEF, a position which took him to all over the world and caused him to cross paths with a number of legendary leaders; I distinctly remember a horse-tail flyswatter in his office that had been given to him by Jomo Kenyatta. In 1968, he was appointed chief of the U.S. Children’s Bureau by President Johnson. (I had a major meltdown in the Oval Office during his swearing-in ceremony, though that’s a story for another time.)

For all his intelligence and accomplishments, Grandpa Fred was also incredibly unpretentious; it was not at all uncommon to see him mowing the lawn in a “gardening uniform” that consisted of a white undershirt, Bermuda shorts, black socks, dress shoes and a Panama hat. He had a down-to-earth charisma that drew people to him, and made them feel immediately at ease; I didn’t realize it at the time, but I learned so much about how to talk to people — and how to really enjoy and appreciate my interactions with them — from hanging around him at his office, at cocktail parties, and at the “19th Hole” lounge of his country club. And, of course, I learned so much about the joys of cooking from the many times that he enlisted me to help him make his famous spaghetti sauce and meatballs…

Some of the happiest memories of my childhood are of the summers my sister and I spent at our grandparents’ house in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. At night, Grandpa Fred would tuck me in with tales of his amazing life — which included shining shoes for a living while he was in elementary school, working in the WPA camps in the late 30s, and serving in the Navy during World War II. In the morning, I would inevitably be awakened by the soft “thunk” of a balled-up sock against my cheek; I’d open my eyes to find him standing in the doorway of my bedroom, a stockpile of sock balls in the crook of his arm, and a big, delighted grin on his perpetually 5 o’clock shadowed face.

In the summer of 1976, my burgeoning interest in baseball gave us even more common ground. We watched Mark Fidrych beat the Yankees on “Monday Night Baseball,” placed quarter bets with each other on the outcome of the All Star Game, and dozed off together during numerous Braves broadcasts on WTCG. He returned from one business trip that summer with a special present for me: the first issue of The Sporting News that I’d ever seen — the one with Johnny Bench on the cover. I think I memorized every stat and box score in that issue before the summer was over…

Grandpa Fred passed away thirteen years later, at the age of 74, and it’s hard for me to believe that he’s now been gone for over half of my life. He still visits me in dreams from time to time, though, and I can still feel his spirit with me whenever I’m watching a ballgame or cooking up an all-day batch of red gravy. And I still often find myself cracking up like a ten-year-old over his rewrite of the Tin Pan Alley standard “By the Light of the Silvery Moon,” which went like this:

By the light of the silvery moon

You will eat a rotten prune

Then you head for the bathroom

Who left the top down?

Mommy, Mommy

Get the sponge

It’s all over the place

I sure do love and miss you, Gramps. Thanks for everything.

Rusty Kuntz Unavailable For Commenttag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b7c738a8ab970b2015-01-17T13:02:54-08:002015-01-17T13:02:54-08:00Today is Pete LaCock's birthday, which is practically a national holiday in some of the social circles I frequent. I always liked LaCock when I was a kid (er, wait...), both for his name and for the fact that his father is Peter Marshall, best known for hosting The Hollywood...Dan Epstein

Today is Pete LaCock's birthday, which is practically a national holiday in some of the social circles I frequent.

I always liked LaCock when I was a kid (er, wait...), both for his name and for the fact that his father is Peter Marshall, best known for hosting The Hollywood Squares — though I recently discovered that the elder LaCock (yes, that's the family name) also made a bravura appearance on a spectacular 1982 episode of CHiPs that featured Donny "Ralph Malph" Most as a Gene Simmons-esque rock singer called Moloch.

I met LaCock five years ago at Cubs Fantasy Camp, and found him to be a good-natured gent with an excellent sense of humor, especially in matters pertaining to his last name. He also told me some amazing stories about hanging out at his dad's place in the early 70s with Paul Lynde and Charles Nelson Reilly, who would often joke that young Pete was "playing for the wrong team," if you get my drift.

And thanks to the Baseball Reference website, I have determined that it did in fact happen — though only once, on May 29, 1978. LaCock, who was playing first that day for the Kansas City Royals, batted against Pole in the first inning of what would eventually be an 8-2 victory over the Seattle Mariners at Royals Stadium. The Royals had already touched Pole for three runs, but LaCock failed to further beef up the score, flying out to left for the second out of the frame. On this day, at least, the Pole was mightier than LaCock.

New Stuff For A New Yeartag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01bb07db4838970d2015-01-15T19:50:20-08:002015-01-15T19:50:20-08:00This is Terry Forster, a man of many interesting distinctions, including being the last American League pitcher to steal a base in a regular season game before the introduction of inter-league play (October 3, 1972) and the player with the highest career batting average in 50 or more at bats...Dan Epstein

This is Terry Forster, a man of many interesting distinctions, including being the last American League pitcher to steal a base in a regular season game before the introduction of inter-league play (October 3, 1972) and the player with the highest career batting average in 50 or more at bats (.397). He's also the only player to be called a "Fat tub of goo" on national television by a prominent late-night talk show host, and the only one to record a novelty rap single as a response. To read more about "Fat Is In," Forster's ill-considered attempt at chart glory, check out my latest "Bloop Hits" piece for Fox Sports' Just a Bit Outside site.

Speaking of Bloop Hits, did you know that the tragic Red Sox heartthrob Tony Conigliaro recorded five singles? Yeah, I didn't either, at least until I started doing research for THIS Bloop Hits piece. I knew about "Playing the Field," but the man clearly had quite the stylistic range, even if his vocal range didn't quite keep the pace...

Beisbol, Bikel, Chocolate Strawberries and more!tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b7c724841b970b2014-12-20T11:40:01-08:002014-12-20T11:40:01-08:00Wrote a lot of fun stuff this week, so just in case you missed any of it... In light of the thawing relations between the United States and Cuba, I wrote this piece for Rolling Stone on the ten greatest Cubans to play major league baseball, and topped it with...Dan Epstein

Wrote a lot of fun stuff this week, so just in case you missed any of it...

I recently did an interview with Paul Francis Sullivan for his great Sully Baseball podcast. We gabbed at length about the Hall of Fame's Golden Era vote, steroids and Fantasy Island, so he broke our chat into Part One and Part Two.

Hey, did you know that there's still time to give copies of Big Hair and Plastic Grass and Stars and Strikes to your favorite baseball fan for Christmas? Philadelphia radio host Phil Allen says, "When I was 16, I read Five Seasons by the great [Roger] Angell. Stars and Strikes is the best since... get Big Hair and Plastic Grass too!!" Considering that Five Seasons is my favorite baseball book of all time (well, other than Joe Pepitone's autobiography), that is high praise, indeed...

And finally, today is the birthday of the great Oscar Gamble. I hope you will all celebrate it in a supremely 'fro-tastic fashion.

"Veterans Stadium is the hippest place in town!"tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b7c71d7521970b2014-12-11T14:27:21-08:002014-12-11T14:28:18-08:00In this week's edition of Bloop Hits, my regular column about music and baseball for Fox Sports' Just a Bit Outside site, I spin the collected recorded works of Larry Bowa. Those of you who have read Stars and Strikes (or were in the Philadelphia area during the 1976 season)...Dan Epstein

In this week's edition of Bloop Hits, my regular column about music and baseball for Fox Sports' Just a Bit Outside site, I spin the collected recorded works of Larry Bowa. Those of you who have read Stars and Strikes (or were in the Philadelphia area during the 1976 season) already know about "Phillies Fever"... but did you know that Bowa and Dave Cash waxed an earlier single, as well?

The Hall of Fame, Fat Lefties, Baseball Songs and Other Personal Obsessions...tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01bb07bfc20e970d2014-12-08T17:29:02-08:002014-12-08T17:30:20-08:00Well, the Hall of Fame's Golden Era Committee has spoken, and they somehow found this year's ten-player ballot entirely wanting. This is disappointing news to me on a number of levels — I was especially rooting for Minnie Miñoso, Dick Allen and Luis Tiant — and you can read my...Dan Epstein

Well, the Hall of Fame's Golden Era Committee has spoken, and they somehow found this year's ten-player ballot entirely wanting. This is disappointing news to me on a number of levels — I was especially rooting for Minnie Miñoso, Dick Allen and Luis Tiant — and you can read my take on the announcement for Rolling Stone HERE. And while I forgot to mention it in the piece, it especially grinds my gears to think that Bud Selig has a better chance of getting into the Hall at this point than most of these guys do.

And speaking of baseball injustices, I've long suspected that Mickey Lolich got a bum rap over his 1976 stint with the Mets, a suspicion that grew larger while I was researching and writing Stars and Strikes. I couldn't get too deeply into it in the book, since Lolich was little more than a bit player in the fascinating drama that was the 1976 season, but I was able to expound at length about it in this piece for The Hardball Times.

In other news, I've started writing regularly for Fox Sports' Just a Bit Outside site. My weekly column, "Bloop Hits," examines the many amusing, endearing and flat-out awkward ways that baseball and music have crossed paths over the years. The entries thus far have featured the 1969 Cubs, the 1981 Dodgers, Mark Fidrych tribute songs, and (most recently) Dick Allen's 1968 doo-wop single. Look for new installments every Thursday (and please leave a comment if you're so inclined)...

Hmmm... what else have I been up to since I last updated this blog? Oh yeah — I wrote this piece on the rise and fall of the "Concrete Donut" stadium for the new website Sphere. Some folks have taken issue with me calling the Oakland Coliseum "the last of the concrete donuts," since Toronto's Rogers Centre still stands. And while they technically have a point, the Coliseum is certainly the oldest one still standing, as well as the only one that is still called home by both MLB and NFL (as opposed to CFL) teams...

Other than that, I just wanted to say thanks again to everyone who bought, reviewed, interviewed me about and/or otherwise supported Stars and Strikes this year. I'm still a little worn out from all the book signings and promotional events I did this spring, summer and fall, but it was totally worth it — just for all the incredible folks I met along the way. And of course, the book would make a lovely present for that baseball fan on your Christmas list...

Happy (and Funky) Holidays to you all,

Dan

Doin' The Do In Burbanktag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b8d06c081a970c2014-09-17T10:06:23-07:002014-09-17T10:06:23-07:00This is Jim "Mudcat" Grant, 21-game winner for the 1965 AL champion Minnesota Twins, and a man who once sported what were perhaps the greatest pair of muttonchops ever seen on a major league diamond. I had the distinct pleasure of meeting and chatting with Mr. Grant during a 2002...Dan Epstein

This is Jim "Mudcat" Grant, 21-game winner for the 1965 AL champion Minnesota Twins, and a man who once sported what were perhaps the greatest pair of muttonchops ever seen on a major league diamond. I had the distinct pleasure of meeting and chatting with Mr. Grant during a 2002 event at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum in Kansas City, and will never forget the riotously off-color stories he told me about his old roommate Vic Power. So it pretty much goes without saying that I'm extremely stoked and honored to be appearing with him this October 7 on a panel presented by The Baseball Reliquary as part of their "Baseball in the Swinging '70s" exhibit at the Burbank Central Library, located at 110 N. Glenoaks Blvd in scenic downtown Burbank.

The exhibit, which runs from now til October 30, takes a look at baseball's most colorful, contentious and tumultuous decade through photographs, artwork, and such sacred 70s artifacts as Dock Ellis's hair curlers, (which Dock himself donated to the Reliquary) and charred 45s from Comiskey Park's "Disco Demolition Night". Much of the exhibit's written content has been excerpted from my book Big Hair and Plastic Grass: A Funky Ride Through Baseball and America in the Swinging '70s. If you live in Southern California and love 70s baseball, you won't want to miss this!

You also won't want to miss the October 7 panel, which will also include Jeffrey Radice, director of the acclaimed new Dock Ellis documentary No No: A Dockumentary, which is now playing in theaters around the country and is also available via iTunes, Amazon Instant, Vudu and On Demand via select cable providers. Dock will understandably be one of the main topics of conversation — Mudcat was his teammate on the 1971 Pittsburgh Pirates — but we will be hitting plenty of other 70s baseball topics, as well. The panel will start at 7 p.m. and run for an hour, and I will be signing copies of Big Hair and my new Stars and Strikes: Baseball and America in the Bicentennial Summer of '76 (both of which will be available for purchase thanks to the fine folks at Skylight Books) afterwards. Hope you can make the scene!

Both the exhibition and the panel are FREE and open to the public. For more info, call the Burbank Central Library at 818-238-5600.

Signed Copies of Stars and Strikes: Get 'Em While They're Hot!tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01a73e10be69970d2014-09-06T12:43:30-07:002014-09-06T12:43:30-07:00Attention, 70s baseball fans — I have returned from the book tour wars with a small stack of 1st edition hardcover copies of my latest book, Stars and Strikes: Baseball and America in the Bicentennial Summer of '76. If you weren't able to make it to any of my reading/signing...Dan Epstein
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p><a class="asset-img-link" style="display: inline;" href="http://lavieenrobe.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b8d064c456970c-pi"><img class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b8d064c456970c img-responsive" style="width: 450px;" title="StarsAndStrikesCover" src="http://lavieenrobe.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b8d064c456970c-450wi" alt="StarsAndStrikesCover" /></a></p>
<p>Attention, 70s baseball fans — I have returned from the book tour wars with a small stack of 1st edition hardcover copies of my latest book, <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stars-Strikes-Baseball-America-Bicentennial/dp/1250034388" target="_self">Stars and Strikes: Baseball and America in the Bicentennial Summer of '76</a></em>. If you weren't able to make it to any of my reading/signing events this summer, but you'd still like to obtain your very own signed copy of <a href="http://www.foxsports.com/mlb/story/mlb-1976-book-dan-epstein-stars-strikes-051914" target="_self">the book that Rob Neyer calls "Tremendous,"</a> just go to the PayPal link below and place your order; they are $35 per copy — $30 plus $5 shipping and handling. Do it soon, though — I only have eight copies to sell, and they may disappear quickly. Makes for great autumn reading, especially if your team is already out of the hunt and/or you're trying to stave off the encroachment of football upon your consciousness...</p>
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<p>When ordering, be sure to include the name of who you would like me to sign the book to (especially if it's not you) and if there's any particular team or player from the era that you (or your recipient) were into. Also, if you want a signed copy of my previous book, <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Big-Hair-Plastic-Grass-Baseball/dp/1250007240" target="_self">Big Hair and Plastic Grass: A Funky Ride Through Baseball and America in the Swinging '70s</a></em>, I still have plenty of those available, <a href="http://www.bighairplasticgrass.com/2014/08/big-hair-plastic-grass-autographed-1st-editions-still-available.html" target="_self">which you can order HERE</a>.</p>
<p>On another note, I'd like to thank everyone at the American Cinematheque who helped in setting up the <em>Bad News Bears</em> screening/<em>Stars and Strikes</em> book-signing at Aero Theatre in Santa Monica, and everyone who came out for it. It was a total blast, and such a treat to see it on the big screen. And of course, seeing my name "in lights" on the marquee just below my all-time favorite baseball film was a beautiful way to cap an incredible summer.</p>
<p><a class="asset-img-link" style="display: inline;" href="http://lavieenrobe.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b8d064c6ea970c-pi"><img class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b8d064c6ea970c img-responsive" style="width: 450px;" title="AeroMarquee" src="http://lavieenrobe.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8341c9a9953ef01b8d064c6ea970c-450wi" alt="AeroMarquee" /></a></p>
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